


Thinking

by rocketgirl2



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 17:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketgirl2/pseuds/rocketgirl2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Castle takes his research a bit far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend who requested Castle/Beckett handcuff!fic. This is the best I could give her.

"So I was thinking," said Castle, walking into the precinct like he owned the place and perching on the corner of Detective Beckett's desk in much the same manner, "that, while  _Heat Wave_ was good for a first-in-the-series sort of book, the sequels will have to live up to much higher expectations."   


"That's great, Castle," said Beckett coolly as she continued working through the pile of papers in front of her. "Isn't that something you could think about while sitting on someone else's desk?"   


"My, my, aren't we tetchy?" commented Ryan as he walked by. "You might want to try again later, Castle."

 

Esposito nodded his agreement as he passed the two, and Beckett bit her lip, hoping that Castle would, for once, take someone else's advice. But it was not to be. He simply sat there, watching her fill in the little blank spaces on the form as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Finally, she could take no more.   


"What is it that you want, Castle," she said resignedly. It looked as if the paperwork would go unfinished once again. At least this time, she could redirect anyone who complained to the mayor rather than having to make her own excuses. He  _had_ ordered her to help Castle out, after all.   


“Actually, I need a pair of handcuffs,” he said, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

“Handcuffs.”   


“Yeah.  You know, those little metal thingies you use when you put someone under arrest?”  Castle demonstrated with his hands.  “And then—”   


“I know what handcuffs are, Castle,” said Beckett, doing her best to not lose her control.  “But the ones we use are property of NYPD, and as such, can’t be handed out to anyone who asks for a pair.   _Even_ if that someoneis Richard Castle.  Why, exactly, do you need them?”   


“Ah!”  Castle held his hand up, then leaned closer to her as if to divulge a secret.  “It’s a surprise.  But I  _can_ tell you that I’m using them purely for research purposes to help me make a certain scene more police-y.  I could even do all my research right here, if you’d like, though I think you might rather…”  Castle trailed off as Beckett fixed another one of her famous glares on him.   


“ _Research_ .”   


“Yes! research.”   


“And what scene was this?”

 Castle smirked.  “Nice try, Detective.  Didn’t I say it was a surprise?”

“Well, unless it’s a very  _special_ surprise, you are not getting a pair of handcuffs.  You’ve seen me use them plenty of times before.”  Beckett was truly stalling for time here, trying to figure out what it was that Castle wasn’t telling her.  And what was up with him, actually—had he smirked even  _more_ at that last statement?  She needed to keep him talking. 

“How do I know you’re not just planning to take them?”  she challenged.

“But—I—”   


“No buts, Castle,” said Beckett, feeling for all the world like she was twelve again, and babysitting an unruly little boy.  “You know what handcuffs look like, and how they’re used.  If I recall correctly, you were even handcuffed yourself once…” she raised an eyebrow at him.  “That should be enough.”   


“I don’t—really—” he stuttered in an awkward tone of voice, and something clicked in Beckett’s mind as to what sort of a scene Castle was talking about.  Her face held an expression of incredulity and horror as she raised her eyes to stare at the author.   


“Castle!” she hissed, narrowly resisting the urge to throw something at his head.  Several somethings, in fact.   


“What?” he asked in his most innocent voice (the one that hadn’t fooled Beckett since day three of the job), but a glare from the Detective told him that he would not be getting away with that.  “I didn’t say  _who_ …”

 

 

 

“No, Castle, just stop,” said Beckett, after she had  recovered her voice well enough that she felt she could talk again.  “I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to know…” 

 

_(You _ do  _want to know,_ said a voice in her head, but she ignored that.)

 

“If you really need—“she ground her teeth—“ _information,_ go ask Lanie.”

 

“Lanie?” he climbed off her desk and rearranged his already impeccable clothing. “You know, I would much rather get my information from you—“

 

“ _Go,_ Castle,” said Beckett, waiting until he had walked out of the door before she rose to refill her cup.

 

She walked, seething mad, to the break room, hoping that someone had thought to stash something much stronger than coffee in one of the cupboards.


End file.
